I’m disappointed once again -being here with you You represent everything I thought I wanted But- You don’t compare to him You make my body sing with pleasure but don’t sweep up the mess that I am You are there to help me escape but never to rescue me SO I choose him Who chooses to be there for me When I chase death in a bathtub or a bottle Because while sex and lust feels good when it’s happening It doesn’t compare to the love and support he’s provided in keeping me alive So I say goodbye to a life Full of lust filled fantasies and accept the one and only who truly cares for me
I actually started writing this poem sometime in 2017 and finished it in January 2020. A big part of my identity is being an immigrant. This poem was inspired by the hardships and struggles I’ve seen my parents and other immigrants go through. This poem was also inspired by the Trump administration and the xenophobia that was felt in my life during that time.
immigration leads to discrimination of immigrants into this so called united nation the ones with brown skin and dark eyes justice to them is greatly denied xenophobia is the driving sensation
their bosses sing a song called exploitation and they hum along to it to live in this democratic nation they leave their language and culture behind to endure the american lie but don’t quite fit into the gringo equation
Is their sacrifice worth so much separation from their families, their language, and their nation? Ah-America – the land of the free yet none of them are truly free living in a soulless and consumerist society
on hinge, I became unhinged some man child told me I should thank him for expressing his desire to fuck me within 5 minutes of talking to him I wanted to obliterate him completely cuss him out for how disrespectful he was being but instead bowed out gracefully told him, “naw, I’m made for victorian courtship” he thought I was strange for wanting something with more substance than casual sex with a guy from a dating app told me, “good luck with your AI boyfriend” and the interaction leaves me sour once again wondering if I was born in the wrong era if I’m asking for too much in asking to be respected and seen as a real person instead as a temporary toy for men to play with
I wish I could forgive everyone who did me harm- but something in me won’t allow me too maybe it’s unprocessed trauma that still wants to speak- about every single atrocity I’ve experienced at the hands of those who said they care for me and love me I really wish I was better than this- constantly holding onto these old grudges but something in me still needs to heal so I can stop obsessing about revenge
I wrote this poem in October of 2020. This one was really hard to post because of the content that includes sexual assault but I believe it’s important to share this part of my story.
so true
There was no way out- and so I pretended – I acted the part of a willful lover even when I wasn’t willing
There was no way out And he refused to read -the subtle hints of no -in between the lines of forced complacency
There was no way out And he kept taking me Every which way he wanted Even when my whimpers turned into sobs
There was no way out and I was terrified I needed to let him have my body to save my life
There were parts of myself I forgot when I was with you I forgot my self worth I forgot my dignity I forgot my self confidence I made the mistake of placing my worth and happiness in your unsure hands I made the mistake of giving you my heart I made the mistake of not knowing when to walk away I made the mistake in believing you would change I made the mistake of wasting my time and love on you
when I’m bothered, when I’m embarrassed, when my inner critic starts knocking on my mind’s door the best thing I can do is reapply my lipstick, write some angry señora poetry Remember the goddess that I am, and take my power back I’m not some stupid and weak little bitch some people perceive me to be (that narrative ended at age 40) now, I take the disrespect and insults with grace keep my composure, pretend I’m unbothered even as I fume inside I still keep on going I won’t make a big fuss or call anyone out that story usually ends with me being gaslit and called crazy instead I adhere to the age old adage “aqui no paso nada” Really being the opposite which is everything my anger, rage, grief being the fuel to become better to prove to myself and others I’m not the mentally unstable bitch society perceives me to be
maybe I restarted the blog for a younger version of us out there in another state, another country who needs a roadmap, Understanding, knowledge, and wisdom in navigating a hard situation they never thought they had to face maybe I restarted the blog out of hope that some couple out there who’s struggling can find something useful in my story, in my prose, and my poetry to get through their own hardship through the worst of it and make it to the other side, evolve and grow together in intimacy and find their own happy ending
I’m a real monster when I can’t see past my anger I want to burn you down I want you to drown And at times I can control my impulsivity and revenge But sometimes my anger can’t be caged And I try to keep it in between the pages of my journal and notebooks but the resentment becomes too loud to let you off the hook So a passive aggressive status post happens with an intent to insult and offend I want you to feel my anger all the way revealed Maybe one day I’ll get much better not allowing my anger to turn me into a monster
Men love a pretty mess like me especially the nice ones who want to fix me and save me I’m their pretty princess who’s so lovely and sweet And for some, my pussy makes them think or say they love me but when I turn from a pretty mess to a crazy and chaotic hurricane they can’t stand to be around me and run away “I never signed up for this, you’re toxic” and I cry and then laugh at the absurdity you don’t get to choose just to love the fun part of me because that’s not love that’s their primal need and lust for me disguised as loved because real love accepts everything about me
So I wrote this essay a couple of years ago as I was reflecting about the end of my marriage:
As my eight year marriage comes to its inevitable end, I’ve been rewatching the series Mad Men. When I first watched the series, I admired Joan and Peggy for being strong female characters in the show but I always thought there was something about Betty Draper that I could relate to. It’s strange to think about considering she’s a white upper class sixties housewife in New York and I’m a working class millennial immigrant Latina woman in Georgia. It’s hard to grasp that there would be any similarities between but there are many indeed.
Betty and Don at Fancy Event
(Me and Hubs at my brother’s wedding reception)
Betty feels trapped in her suburban idyllic existence and often times feels frustrated; I’ve also felt this way throughout the past fifteen years. Betty wonders if there is more to life than what she is living which is rearing children and being a good wife; I’ve constantly wondered the same thing except that I have the added burden of working.
Don, Betty’s husband acts like she should be happy with her life and gets mad at her when she shows real emotion, kind of accuses her of being crazy and sends her to a psychiatrist that he secretly talks to about her sessions without her consent and knowledge. My husband never went so far but for most our relationship he did accuse me of over reacting and/or accuse me of being crazy if I got “emotional” about something and/or brought up needs that weren’t being met in our relationship. It always felt that I was expecting too much out of our relationship for wanting normal things in a relationship. My husband has also acted like I should settle for what the little he can give me in terms of companionship and be happy with that since he was. For a long time, I felt that maybe I could and should settle for this but settling made me miserable for several years.
Don also kind of stopped investing time and energy into his marriage. He took Betty for granted because they were married with two children and hid behind his work and his many dalliances. My husband was never one to make time for us or continue to woo me in any sense after we started living together. Instead, he hid behind the raising of our children and the fact that he was always tired. He could never spontaneously compliment me and I was always either too fat or almost too skinny for him. Betty overlooked Don’s lack of affection for several years in the same way I overlooked my husband’s. I feel that this had to do with how women are conditioned to be polite and swallow their emotions because again–we’ll be accused of being crazy and/or hysterical.
The beginning of the end of Betty and Don’s marriage started when Betty eventually gets fed up after having one of Don’s affairs rub in her face and throws Don out but later they get back together because she finds out she’s pregnant with their third child. Don does try to be a somewhat better husband but eventually goes back to his philandering ways. There have been a few times throughout our relationship that I did try to break up with my husband but because he always apologized and said he would change, I always took him at his word and wanted to believe he would change. We even planned our third child and got married shortly after getting pregnant. I think I subconsciously did this because I thought a baby and a marriage would be the band aids that would fix “us”.
Betty eventually gets tired of Don’s lack of effort and also his lies and eventually asks for a divorce, she tells him something like, “I don’t feel anything when I kiss you”; it seems that this was when she knew that it was over for her and Don. For me, it took me a couple of years to be firm in my decision to divorce my husband. I think that I finally realized that there was no way I could continue the façade of our marriage when I realized that I no longer cared that he didn’t notice me or felt anything remotely like romantic love when I kissed him. It took him a while to understand why I wanted a divorce since he was happy with “us” and his main concerns were, “what about the taxes?” or “what about the kids?”. But like Don, he eventually agreed to it and said that he wouldn’t fight me about it. It’s kind of eerie that women like myself can still relate to a sixties housewife when it comes to relationships, marriages, and the stigma of divorce. I’m sure that people wonder why I would stay in a stagnant and awful relationship/marriage; that’s simple; I loved my husband. I thought that loving him meant that I had to settle for a marriage devoid of any real affection. I thought that the love I felt for him would be enough to change him one day.
you’ve change from spring to autumn within moments never knew if I should wear my feelings on my sleeve never knew if I should wear layers of cynicism I’ve made it as simple as possible for you and nothing happens and slowly my hope of love recedes in the background
I wake up on a Sunday Mad and angry You’re not here In my arms Because I was too much I was too Insane Too old So I lay alone In tears that won’t fall Numb Wondering- When will I ever Find someone To take away The numbness Of the experience Of a life not loved Of a face not kissed Of an intimacy faked!
I hope this story is buried for a final time and you don’t pop up again and I have to play whack an asshole once again blocking you on yet another platform would the universe be kind enough this time for it to be good riddance forever cause I’m tired of my past mistakes to constantly come out of nowhere to disturb my present
Life on the BPD 